


Mask and Shield

by justanotherStonyfan



Category: The Amazing Spider-Man (Movies - Webb), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: M/M, Superfamily AU so nobody important is excluded, see notes - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-16
Updated: 2014-02-16
Packaged: 2018-01-12 17:21:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1193415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justanotherStonyfan/pseuds/justanotherStonyfan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU Peter Parker gets taken on by Stark Industries - he and May live in the tower:</p><p>Everybody knows Tony Stark is Iron Man, his long-term partner Steve Rogers and semi-adopted 'son' Peter included. Steve Rogers' alter ego is a secret that's a little more well kept, if only to afford May and Peter a little normalcy. But, as it turns out, the other secret being kept in the Rogers-Stark household is one that could cause a few problems – especially because prodigy Peter Parker is even more than what he seems.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mask and Shield

**Author's Note:**

> AU where Stark Industries takes Peter Parker on after the destruction of Oscorp, providing him and his Aunt May with an apartment because he's a science whiz and Tony thinks he's great. (This is because I like superfamily(ish) but I much prefer all the Marvel characters *acting* like family, without excluding anyone's important character-building history. I'm also messing with ages - Peter's about 17.
> 
> More headcanon stuff that's never going to go anywhere.

He's on his way to see if he can snag some gauze for his forearm when he catches sight of blue and red in a back alley, and he swings across because he's curious, and because he can. And then he stares.

He can't believe what he's seeing. 

He cannot physically believe it. 

There are tears in Peter's eyes so quickly he only just avoids shedding them and soaking his mask, his stomach rolls so fast he comes within about three seconds of throwing up, and his fingers hurt he's gripping the ledge so tightly. 

If this were someone else, a different time, he could understand it. The fight's over and they won. But now? When it's Tony, the man he's ended up calling Dad?

He remembers the first time it happened, the shocked expression on Tony's face, and he remembers how it just became normal eventually, how even the rest of the Avengers don't bat an eye when he says Dad and Pops instead of Tony and Steve. Some of them (Hawkeye) even use the names themselves because, after all this time, those are the names most likely to get their attention. But he can't stomach the thought of it now.

He knows exactly what he has to do. This is going to tear their family apart, but what choice does he have? Even though he loves both his fathers more than he ever thought it possible, he can't let this go unnoticed. There's no way back, not now he's seen, and no matter how many offers Dad makes, and he hates that he's almost certain Dad will, there's no going back.

He lifts his camera, zooms in as far as he can so he doesn't have to move closer, so he doesn't have to risk hearing them, and takes a photograph, keeps taking photographs until he's out of film. 

And then he leaves, leaves as fast as he's physically able before he brings up everything he's eaten today and collapses in a sobbing mess. 

~

When they come home, he does his absolute best to remain neutral, tries his hardest not to give in to the anger and the hatred that surges through his veins at the sight of Tony's smile, and it lasts until he stands in Tony's way and jabs him in the chest with his finger. 

“Fuck you,” he says, and Tony's bruised a little, still dusty, a cut through one eyebrow. It shouldn't be as satisfying as it is to watch that grin of his falter.

“Peter!” Steve's voice scolds him and, oh, if Steve only knew.

Peter punches Tony, square in the jaw, pleased by the wide eyes he gets in response, by the way Tony leans back out of his way, one hand pressed to his face.

“ _Peter!_ ” Steve says again. “What the hell is-”

“Fuck you,” Peter hisses again, and the tears are already spilling over.

Steve grabs at his arm, his bicep, pulling him back a few steps, and Peter just pulls against his grip.

“Pete, what on earth-” Steve asks, but Peter only sees Tony, only sees Tony and his lies, and tries to lunge forward.

Tony's shock turns to carefully concealed anger, and he stands up straight. “You deal with this,” he says, “I'm done with internal screw-ups today.” And he gets back into the elevator. “I'll be in the workshop if you need me.”

And the doors close and Tony, Tony Stark and his self-righteous attitude, are gone.

“You mind telling me what the hell that was, Peter?” Steve says, and he doesn't sound pleased. But boy is he about to get a kick in the gut. 

“You would have done it,” he says instead. “If you knew, you'd have done it first.”

Steve's grip on his bicep doesn't ease and, even though he could easily shake Steve off, he doesn't. What better way to out himself? Maybe he should just climb a wall.

“Then _tell_ me,” Steve says and that, that's something he hadn't really thought about, something he hadn't considered. He wants Tony to have to do it – he wants to confront Tony, to fight Tony about this, to make Tony confess to Steve and for Steve to know what Tony's done, but not like this.

He doesn't want to do it himself, doesn't want to be the bearer of news bad enough that it might mean Steve can't even look at him. For one thing, he's going to need a friend when Tony kicks him out.

“It's not...” Peter says, and his throat closes up. “It's not fair, _he_ should tell you.”

“I don't care who tells me,” Steve says, “just as long as somebody does – what the _hell_ do you think you were doing punching _Tony_ in the _face_? You have no idea what he's just gone through, he could have hit his head or-”

“He deserved it,” Peter answers, and Steve's grip loosens enough in shock that Peter can wrench his arm away, can leave to walk into another room, trying to buy himself time. 

It was never going to work – Steve is hot on his heels and his voice leaves no room for argument. “You sit yourself down, mister,” he says. “I want an explanation as to why you punched Tony in the face and, so help me, it had better be darned good.”

Peter turns around to tell him no, to tell him to go ask Tony, to tell him nothing in the world is going to hurt him as much as this, but he doesn't get that far because his face crumples up and he puts his head in his hands as he sobs. Oh, God, what is he going to _do_?

~

Steve doesn't actually know what the problem is but they had a tough enough fight without the kid they basically consider family hitting Tony in the face the second he's out of the elevator. Steve only just beat Tony back this time, took the stairs to keep himself out of sight, and considering that he nearly got killed by bad comm-lines and out-of-date intel, the last thing he wants is for someone to beat up his long-term partner.

“What the hell's _happened_ , Peter?” he says, a little less irate this time, and Peter just sobs into his hands.

This is less anger, less sadness, and more hysteria, by the look of it. So it could be that Tony just got in Peter's way before. He reaches out to Peter, making his footsteps as loud as he can, and he takes hold of Peter's shoulders to steer him forward.

“Come and sit down with me,” he says. “Okay? Just come sit with me, things'll be all right.”

Peter coughs a little but he moves his feet, and he lets Steve steer him to the couch, lets Steve sit him down.

Steve sits next to him carefully and rubs one hand up and down his back to try and help.

“You wanna tell me what that was all about?” he says, and Peter nods.

“I do,” he says. “I do but I can't.”

Steve feels his eyebrows go up but he doesn't push it. “Come on, Pete,” Steve says softly instead, trying his best to smile, and Peter looks at him with the kind of expression that tears Steve's heart in two. “It's okay.”

He looks like he's in agony, like the world has ended, and he's crying so hard that he's hiccuping. “Pop, I'm...I'm...Sor-ry...”

“Hey now,” Steve murmurs, rubbing his hand down Peter's back again. “Whatever's got you so...you don't have to apologise. Don't apologise for this, okay? Maybe to Tony but-”

Peter just coughs harshly, a raw sound of pure pain that scrapes up from the back of his throat. “Not this,” he manages, head in his hands. “I'm sorry for...Pop, I'm so sorry...”

Steve ducks his head to try and at least see Peter's face, even if Peter can't tell him what's wrong. 

“Poppa, _please,_ ” he whispers, and Steve feels a chill run the length of his spine – Peter hasn't called him 'Poppa' for a very long time. “ _Please,_ Poppa, I can't...I don't want...”

“What is it, Pete?” Steve murmurs. “There's nothing so bad you can't tell me, nothing that's gonna change that we love you.”

Peter makes an awful, awful groaning noise, like that's worse somehow, like Steve's just ended his world for him and Steve wants to grab hold of him and _make_ him speak just to get it over with, just to get the words past his lips. “Poppa, it's...gonna hurt so bad and I'm so sorry, I'm _so sorry..._ ”

“Come on, Pete,” Steve soothes. “Whatever it is, we'll get through it together.” And there it is again, the way he screws his face up, the way his sobs are harder, louder – it's like each reassurance is the wrong thing to say. “I promise you, Pete,” he says, “your Aunt May and Tony and I love you-”

“Stop it, stop it!” Peter damn near screams, and Steve just stares at him.

He knows breakdowns, he's seen them before, had one or two himself, but this is so much worse because this isn't Peter giving in; this is Peter fighting himself. Every time he opens his mouth, it looks like it feels like a knife to his chest.

“I can't,” he whispers, “I can't, I can't-”

“You don't have to,” Steve tries to reassure him, but Peter fists his hands in his hair and bends double. 

“I do!” he says. “You don't understand, _I have to_ but I can't and I...God, Poppa, I'm sorry...” And Steve is about to say something decisive – like 'if you don't calm down, I'll have to call your father' or 'you're scaring me and I'm not going to sit around and let you do this to yourself' but Peter looks at him, Peter just _looks_ at him, and Steve's never seen him look so empty, so devastated, so indescribably torn to pieces inside. “It's...It's _Dad,_ ” Peter whispers, and Steve carefully keeps his expression neutral.

He knows Tony, he's known Tony for a long time, and those two words – _it's Dad_ – could mean one awful lot and please, whatever it is, please just let Tony be okay.

“Okay,” Steve says, somehow managing to keep his voice level, somehow not screaming or running to Tony or doing any of a hundred things he feels like. “What _about_ Dad?”

And Peter's face crumples – his shoulders hunch and his body bends forward and, when he speaks, it's a moan of pain. “He's been cheating, Poppa,” he rasps. “I-I...I _saw_ him.”

It's like the whole world has shrunk down to the space around them, like there's nothing but blackness and Steve shakes his head. “He wouldn't, Pete,” he whispers, because he knows Tony. He's known Tony for years and Tony would _never_ hurt him this way. He'd never do this, not to Steve, not to Peter, not to their family, Tony Stark is a better man. “He wouldn't cheat on me.”

Peter sobs so hard he coughs. “I...” he begins, and then he shakes his head, hands curling into white-knuckled fists. “There's photographs, Pop,” he manages. “ _Photographs._ ”

_No._

Steve's blood goes cold.

_No._

Steve's heart starts pounding.

_No._

Steve swallows hard as his whole body stills, but Peter just cries harder, doubling over again, hiding his head in his hands against his knees. “I'm _sorry,_ ” he says, “Poppa, I'm so _sorry.._.”

But Steve can't say a word. He knows he should be comforting Peter, he should be telling him he's done the right thing, that it's okay, that it's not his fault, but he can't, he _can't._

“Show me,” he says, and he should be afraid at the way his voice sounds – he knows Peter is because the crying stops immediately, because Peter's eyes go wide, because Peter stares at him like he's a different man – a stranger in their house – but Steve doesn't register how hard his fingernails are biting into his palm, how tightly his jaw is locked, how his whole body is shaking from head to foot with adrenalin.

“Pop, y-you don't need to see-”

“I need proof, Peter,” Steve says, because he does. He can't believe this is true, and he won't, not without proof. “This is not your fault, I love you, you did the right thing but _show me the photographs.”_

Peter hesitates, looking for all the world like a rabbit in the headlights and Steve shuts his eyes before he starts yelling. _“Peter,”_ he warns, and Peter launches himself off the couch and runs.

He doesn't go far – over to his backpack by the door – and he pulls out a manilla envelope like SHIELD do when they're breaking terrible news, like every assignment he's ever had, like every other manilla envelope with the potential to destroy his existence. This can't be true, Tony wouldn't.

And Peter walks all the way back like he's been caught with his hand in the cookie jar, coming to stand still in front of Steve. “I'm sorry,” he whispers, his skin red and blotchy, his eyes bloodshot and the lashes damp, and he holds the envelope out in one thin, pale, shaking hand. 

“I know,” Steve bites out past the taste of bile, and Peter doesn't move. Steve almost wants to tell him to leave, to scream at him to get out so that there's nobody to witness this. Because, if Peter's right – and Peter's smart like Tony is, Peter's quick the way Tony is, Peter's no fool, and Steve _knows_ he must be right – it's going to tear him to pieces, even though this isn't possible.

He breathes, takes another deep breath, and another, and then he slides his thumb under the flap because otherwise he'll spend all day breathing here with the envelope in his hand, and pulls out the photographs.

And it's right there. 

For a moment, it doesn't even register what he's seeing because Steve is expecting something so different, but it's there. The photograph is taken from above Tony, above _Iron Man,_ from behind him, as though someone were watching from a window, and Steve knows exactly what he's looking at. 

It was this morning, right after they'd crushed the Coney Island Hacker's attempts to rob the Bank of America, and there's Tony – Peter's right, there's Tony – still wearing his Iron Man armor in a back alley. And he's kissing...

He's kissing Captain America.

“I'm sorry, Poppa,” Peter whispers again, and Steve curls the photograph forwards to look at the others. More kissing, Tony's kissing Captain America, Captain America's holding on to Tony for dear life, Captain America's laughing at Tony, Tony's holding Captain America's hand, more kissing...

“Oh, Pete,” Steve breathes, and it's like air after almost drowning, sunlight after years underground, “oh, Peter, come here.” Steve holds out his hands and Peter collapses against him, burying his head in Steve's shoulder. “It's okay, Peter, it's...sweetheart, it's all gonna be fine, okay?”

“Poppa,” Peter answers miserably, and Steve settles a hand on the back of his head, presses a kiss to his hair. 

“It's okay, kiddo, I promise. It's all gonna be fine.”

“I didn't want to tell you but I...I couldn't...” Steve smiles a little as all the blood returns to his extremities and all the tension leaves his shoulders. “What are we gonna do, Pop?”

“Oh, don't worry about that,” Steve sighs, closing his eyes for a moment or two as Peter's hands curl in his shirt, stroking his hand up and down Peter's back the way he used to do when Peter still fit in his arms. “It's all gonna be fine, I know what to do, you don't have to worry, this isn't what you think it is. It's gonna be okay.”

And they sit there for a while, until Peter's calm, until he's breathing normally and his hands are pressed to Steve instead of curled in his shirt, and Steve pulls his head back a little. 

Peter doesn't look at him, but he pulls away.

“I want you to stay here,” Steve says, hands on Peter's shoulders so Peter knows he isn't mad. “Just stay here, on the couch.”

“Why?” Peter whispers. “I don't...I mean, can't I...go to my room or something?”

“I love you, Pete, but no,” Steve says. “I understand how you must feel and you've been great. Okay? But I want you to stay here.”

Peter looks up at him then. “Where are _you_ going?”

Steve smiles gently. “I'm going to talk to Tony,” he said, and Steve's heart wrenches because Peter actually pales.

“N-No!” he says. “Pop, don't!”

“It's okay,” Steve soothes, “it's okay. You're not in trouble, I won't get _you_ in trouble. Just stay here, okay? I won't be long. I just need you to trust me. Okay?”

And Peter chews his lip for a moment, for a moment longer, and he nods, staring down at his hands. 

~

Peter sits down on the couch, like Steve has asked him to, and he hunches his shoulders, curling in on himself. Steve presses another kiss to the top of his head as he stands, and he walks out of the living room as quickly as he can, sparing a glance back at Peter.

Peter's sitting very still – Steve can't blame him – and Steve knows exactly where Tony will be right now. He doesn't have the time to go down to him, and he wouldn't even if he did. He needs Tony to _come up,_ and he needs Tony to do so _now._

Steve hangs a left into the kitchen and pours himself a glass of water – he gets one for Peter, too – before he looks up.

“J.A.R.V.I.S,” he says.

 _“Yes, Sir?”_ J.A.R.V.I.S answers, and Steve smiles a little. J.A.R.V.I.S used to call him Captain, until Peter. Maybe J.A.R.V.I.S will call him that again now, if he asks nicely.

“Can you give me a line to Tony?” he says, and J.A.R.V.I.S answers immediately.

 _“I shall do my very best, Sir,”_ he says, and there's a small click, and a crackle, before a few seconds pause.

 _“Hey, babe,”_ Tony's voice says, and he sounds very tired. _“You figure it out?”_

“Yeah,” Steve says quietly, leaning back on the counter. “Pete's got photos of you kissing Captain America.”

 _“So?”_ But then, _“oh, shit.”_

“Language,” Steve says. 

_“Sorry,”_ Tony's voice tells him, and he sounds genuine so, yes, he must feel pretty drained. _“Yeah, I can see why he'd...So he knows?”_

“No,” Steve answers. “That was the problem. Peter had photographs of Dad kissing someone who wasn't Pops.”

There's a long, almost painful silence, during which Steve can almost hear Tony thinking. And then Tony's voice comes through. _“The poor kid,”_ he says. _“I never even...God, poor Pete. Is he okay?”_

“He'll be fine,” Steve says, “but can you come up? And would you bring my shield?”

 _“Sure,”_ Tony says, _“I'm on my way right now. And you didn't tell him yet?”_

“No,” Steve says, “not yet. I figured we should do that together.”

 _“Yeah,”_ Tony answers, and Steve can hear his footsteps, can hear the change in his breathing – Tony's on his way. _“Oh! Damn, I forget how heavy this thing is.”_

Steve smiles, looks down at his feet and takes a sip of his water. 

“Hey,” he says. “I love you.”

Tony's footsteps falter for a second. _“I love you too, babe,”_ he says. _“I really do. Y-You know I'd never-”_

“I know,” Steve says. “I even said as much. And I'll admit I was scared when he said there were photographs but I...I know. I know you'd never...You'd never.”

 _“I'm getting in the elevator,”_ Tony says, and Steve picks up the glass of water he poured for Peter. _“You want me to go to the kitchen first or...?”_

“No, the bedroom,” Steve says. “I'm gonna go get my uniform, too.”

~

Steve sets Peter's glass of water down on the table in front of him, and Peter startles a little.

“Hey, bud,” Steve says. “Just me. Look, your Dad's coming upstairs so-”

“Please can I go to my room?” Peter says. “Please? I promise I'll put in my headphones and I'll watch a movie or something but I don't want-”

“I know,” Steve says, holding up a hand. “I know.” He crouches down in front of Peter, so that he's looking up at Peter, so that Peter can look down at him. “But just trust me, okay? This is all gonna be okay.”

Peter's expression darkens. “You forgive him?” he says. “Already?”

Steve narrows his eyes a little, tilts his head to one side. “I wouldn't say that,” he says. “But I need you to _trust me,_ Peter. Can you do that? For me?”

And Peter searches Steve's face, looking down at where he's clasped his hands in his lap as he nods. “Pop,” he whispers. “I trust you.”

Steve takes one of Peter's hands in his own. “I promise it's gonna be okay. I _promise.”_

And Peter nods, finds Steve's eyes with his own and swallows hard. “Okay.” 

So Steve gets up and walks out of the living room.

~

Steve's just turning into the bedroom when he hears the elevator ding and he stands in the corridor to make sure Tony sees him – to make sure Tony doesn't go into the living room right now.

Tony gives him a wave, holding Steve's shield, and walks towards Steve looking tired but with a smile turning the corner of his mouth. 

Steve steps into the bedroom maybe ten feet ahead of Tony, and he waits by the door to grab Tony by the collar as he approaches. 

Tony drops the shield in shock and Steve kisses him, vaguely grateful that the shield didn't land on their feet. Tony lets Steve manhandle him against the wall, kissing him back until Steve gets a hold on himself. “Sorry,” he gasps against Tony's mouth. “I-I mean, I didn't believe it.”

“But it's nice to know for sure?” Tony murmurs, and Steve chews his lower lip.

“I...figured when he told me that...it could be mind control. O-Or doctored photos-”

“But it's-”

“Nice to know for sure, yeah,” Steve nods. “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.”

Tony shakes his head, and Steve knows him well enough by now to see when he's hiding disappointment.

He takes Tony by the shoulders and kisses him – softly this time and a whole lot deeper – and he pulls away to speak. “I never thought _you_ would cheat on me, Tony,” he says. “I refused to believe it, I know _you_ wouldn't. But I thought it could be someone using you, using your body, using me, I thought it could be a million things. But not you. Okay?”

Tony's shoulders sag a little, the relief evident in his expression. “I love you,” he says softly. “I would never-”

“I know,” Steve says. “I know. But come on, I need to get into my suit before Peter freaks out and runs.”

“Yeah,” Tony says. “I didn't bring the cowl, did you-”

“No, he'll want to see my face.”

~

It only takes about two minutes to get into the suit. He's not actually getting into the suit, he's getting into the top half – minus the cowl – so it's more like changing shirts than anything else. 

“How do I look?” he says quietly, and Tony shrugs. 

“Very patriotic,” he says. “I could do with patching it up, though.”

Steve just shakes his head. “You can see the slashes in the photos,” he says, turning a little to see one of the many healing gashes beneath one of the many slashes in the material. “This'll prove it to him.”

“And _then_ I patch it up,” Tony says. 

“Sure thing,” Steve answers, brushing a little dust off the shoulder. “Shall we?”

“Oh, me first?” Tony says dryly. “Yeah, great.”

Steve rolls his eyes and picks up his shield. “Fine,” he says. “But no staring at my ass.”

“That's the only reason I ever follow you anywhere,” he says. 

Steve chuckles but he keeps it quiet. They're going to need to be really careful with this.

~

Steve walks into the living room first and he goes to stand behind the couch. He makes his footsteps loud but Peter doesn't turn – Steve's not surprised – and he doesn't flinch when Steve sets one hand on his shoulder. The photographs are on the couch next to him, and Tony walks around the couch to stand in front of it. 

He keeps his distance from Peter and Peter's head moves as he looks up at Tony.

“Hey,” Tony says, and Steve feels Peter's muscles tense under his hand. Peter looks down again. 

“Peter,” Steve says. “I love you, Peter. We love you. Just trust me a little longer. Just a little longer. I would like you to look at those photographs again. Pick one, any one that's easiest for you, and take a good look at Captain America for me.”

Peter does as he's asked, reaching out with one hand to push the glossy rectangles aside one by one until he finds the one where Iron Man holds Captain America's hand in his, and he looks at it.

Steve leans down, shield still in one hand with the other still rests on Peter's shoulder.

“You see that cut on his right shoulder?” Steve says softly, and Peter nods slowly. “And that cut by the star?” Again Peter nods. “And there's motor oil by the left elbow.” Peter doesn't say a word. 

“Pete, we've both been lying to you,” Tony says, and Peter looks up sharply. 

“You-” he begins, his voice low, rough, hard, and he's evidently about to call Tony something awful but Steve cuts him off, tightening his fingers on Peter's shoulder just a little.

“Not like that, Pete,” he says softly. “That's not what he means. And we...were going to say something but we wanted you to be able to live a normal life. We were going to tell you once you got through college.”

Peter turns around on the couch, getting onto his knees and clinging to the back of it to stare at Steve. “What are you talking a...about...” And his voice dies on his lips. 

He stares at Steve and Steve just stands up straight and squares his shoulders, watching carefully as Peter looks Steve up and down. Peter's eyes go to the cut on his right shoulder, the cut by the star, the oil stain by Steve's left elbow. The shield in his hand.

And then Peter looks at the photograph in his hand, shaking his head as his eyes fill with tears. 

“Pops,” he whispers, and then, _finally,_ a watery smile begins to form.

“It's me, Petey,” Steve says softly, holding out his arms so Peter can look at him. “I'm Captain America.”

Peter closes his eyes and lets his hand drop, the photograph fluttering onto the floor as he blows out a long breath. 

Steve steps forward and puts the shield down to lift Peter over the back of the couch, sitting him down on the back of it. Peter gasps in shock but he hugs Steve as soon as he's been set down again – it's just more proof that the guy Dad was kissing is just... _Pop._

Peter clings to him, hands in the battered uniform's shirt, head pressed against Steve's body.

And Tony moves to kneel up on the couch, so that he can wrap his arms around Pete from behind, and Steve too, so that they're all holding onto each other.

“I'm sorry,” Peter says, and it sounds like he's crying again. 

Steve and Tony just hold him tighter. “It's okay, Pete,” Tony says. “You did good. I mean, the yelling and hitting me wasn't great but, y'know.”

“I'm sorry, Dad,” he whispers, and Tony chuckles 

“I've had worse. And if you'd seen what you thought you saw, you'd've been doing the right thing, too.”

“Tony!” Steve admonishes, but Peter laughs weakly. 

Tony kneels up a little higher, and Steve leans down a little, and they kiss over Peter's head, the fingers of one of Tony's hands finding one of Steve's. 

“I'd say you're disgusting but I'm really kinda glad right now,” Peter says, and Tony snorts – right against Steve's face.

“No, I'd say you're right,” Steve says, wrinkling his nose.

Tony laughs and lets go of Peter, and Peter pulls back enough to look at Steve. “And you guys are serious?” he says. “I mean....yeah, of course you're serious but...wow, you're...you're Captain...” Oh and there's the kind of expression Steve usually sees when Peter's talking about Captain America. “Oh my God, you're Captain America, my _Pop_ is Captain America, this is so cool and it's also really lame because you're _Pop_ -”

“Hey!” Steve chuckles, but Peter rubs the back of his neck.

“You're really Captain America,” he says softly, staring at the star in the middle of Steve's chest.

“Yeah,” Tony says. “Try and get your head around that one – this whole time he passed jars to me, that was all a ruse.” Peter laughs. “And that whole time you were doing your plastering-posters-up and collecting-figures and hero-worshipping Captain America?”

Peter groans and covers his face with his hands.

“Oh _man,_ ” he says, “no, wait, this is _terrible,_ my _Pop_ is Captain America.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Well at least those photos...” But he trails off, staring at the photos on the couch. He knows that style, he's seen that kind of angle before – that camerawork. “Peter, where did you get those?” he says, and Peter looks down at the photos.

“Uh...” he says. “Why?”

“What is it, babe?” Tony asks, and Steve leans down over the back of the couch and picks up the photos, starting to flick through them. 

“Look at these,” Steve says softly, as Tony comes to stand next to him so that they can both see the pictures. “Do they look familiar to you?”

Tony frowns and takes one, and Steve keeps flicking through the others with Tony tucked up against his side. 

“Yeah,” Tony says, and Steve looks right at Peter.

“Peter, I need you to tell us who gave these to you.”

Peter looks like he's trying not to run. “Why?” he says, his voice a little rougher now.

“Because the likelihood is that whoever gave you these is Spider-man.”

“So?” Peter says. “You guys don't like that guy and he tried to help me.”

Tony frowns but Steve's expression softens. 

“He's good,” Steve says. “A little young, a little inexperienced but he's good.” Peter folds his arms. “I want him on-side,” Steve continues, “and the media's making him out to be some kind of criminal.”

“Maybe he is,” Peter says with a shrug, and Steve shakes his head. 

“I don't think so,” he answers. “He's smarter than a lot of people give him credit for and he's fast, and I want him on-side.”

“So what if I know a guy?” Peter says, and Steve takes a step forward.

“Then I want to talk to him,” Steve answers, and Peter shakes his head.

“I don't divulge my sources,” he says. “Give me a message and I'll take it to him.”

Steve narrows his eyes and glances at Tony, and Tony is giving the same narrow-eyed look to Peter.

“Pete,” Tony says, and Peter looks at him. “We want to talk to him, face to face. I'm Iron Man. He's Captain America.”

“What if he doesn't want to talk to you?” Peter says, and Steve hears him say it but it doesn't make sense.

“What?” Steve asks, and Peter looks at him. “Sorry, I mean...When did he...”

Tony takes a step forward, too.

“When did he bring you these?” he says carefully, and Peter shrugs. 

“This afternoon,” he says, without looking at either of them.

“Ah-huh,” Tony says. “I don't buy it.” And Steve doesn't say anything but Tony knows he doesn't buy it either. “We didn't finish up downtown until one, and it's not late now. Which means he took the photos, developed them and got them to you before we got back. So how's that?”

“He works fast,” Peter says, and Steve nods.

“So it _is_ him,” he says, and Peter shoots him a look that says nothing so much as _'oh crap.'_ “Pete, do you...do you _know_ him?” Because Steve has an awful feeling Peter knows Spider-man a lot better than he's making out.

“He's a friend,” he says angrily, defensively, getting up, and he's in the process of walking out when Steve, quite by chance, grabs his forearm. It's not a hard grip, not firm, but Peter hisses and twists away. “Ow!” 

And then they're just standing staring at each other. 

“Peter,” Steve says, keeping his voice as absolutely neutral as he can, “roll up your sleeve, please.”

Peter just stares at him from under his eyebrows and slowly, very slowly, shakes his head.

“Peter, _please,_ ” Steve says, being careful not to raise his voice at all. 

Peter just covers his forearm with his other hand and looks away.

“J.A.R.V.I.S,” Tony says, and Steve looks at him. Tony has to be really careful now because, if this is going the way Steve thinks it is, asking J.A.R.V.I.S for confirmation could be terrible. “Judging by the time it took us to get rid of the Hacker, and judging by the time it took us to kiss in that alley, can you calculate how long it would take to develop a roll of film and have usable prints of the photographs?”

 _“Yes, Sir,”_ J.A.R.V.I.S answers, and there's a short pause before he speaks again, at which point Steve's blood turns to ice in his veins. _“For an experienced photographer, it would take approximately thirty to forty minutes until the photographs are fully developed.”_

And Steve's gaze slides over to the clock even though they all know the time. 

“How long is it since-” Tony begins, but Peter cuts him off.

“Don't, Dad,” he says, and then he closes his eyes. “That's really not playing fair.”

And they stand in silence, Tony Stark, Peter Rogers-Stark and Captain America, until Peter opens his eyes and turns his head away.

“I'm Spider-man.”

“Pete,” he breathes, just as Tony murmurs, “Peter,” and his knees feel weak. His stomach feels tight.

“I'm sorry,” Peter says, looking halfway between embarrassed and angry.

“You're damn straight you're sorry!” Tony says, a little louder than any of them are expecting. “First thing you're gonna do is fetch me your goddamn costume so I can put some freaking _armor_ in it! Swinging around in spandex, Peter, really!?”

Peter looks at Tony like he's lost his mind, and Steve sees what's going on. 

“And then you're going to let us fit you for an earpiece, young man, do you understand? No _way_ are you coming out unless we've got a line to you.”

Peter's eyes are wide and his arms drop from in front of his chest. “I...are you guys serious?”

“And the gym,” Steve says. “We need to redecorate.”

“Yeah, you can't train unless you've got something to train against,” Tony nods. “I'm gonna have to fix some stuff to the ceiling.”

Peter laughs nervously. “You guys are serious!” he whispers incredulously. “And...I'm...am I grounded?”

Steve smiles. “That goes without saying.”

Peter nods, laughing a little more easily this time. “Yes, Sir,” he says, and Steve nods. 

“That's what I like to hear.”

And Peter chews his lip for a second or two, clearly thinking hard about something. And then he flings himself at Steve. “Thanks, Pop,” he says.

“Sure thing,” Steve says, and Peter flings himself at Tony next. 

“Thanks, Dad. And I'm...really sorry I hit you.”

“That's okay,” Tony says, patting him on the back. “Next time I'll put on the suit.”

Steve rolls his eyes but smiles anyway. 

“And I'm gonna...head to my room,” Peter says, still grinning despite the fact that he is grounded for the next century or so. 

“We're gonna talk about this later,” Steve says as Peter disappears, and then he looks at Tony as he sighs heavily. “Our son is Spider-”

“No!” Tony says, clapping his hands over his ears. “No, _no_ I am not dealing with this now. We will deal with this later – after dinner, after dessert, and after I have some coffee.”

Steve laughs softly, running his hand through his hair. He stoops to pick up his shield and sighs, letting it rest against him. “I should get changed,” he says. “This is gonna need patching up.”

“Yeah, sure,” Tony says, following him as he leaves to get out of the suit. “But we're not on schedule.”

“ 'On schedule'?” Steve parrots, glancing back at him with one eyebrow raised, and he knows he looks tired but that doesn't seem to dull Tony's enthusiasm. On the contrary – Tony takes one or two quick steps to catch up to him and smooths a hand down Steve's spine until it's resting against the small of his back

“I didn't get my post-battle life-affirmation,” Tony says softly. “And you're covered in cuts so I get to lead.”

Steve smiles a little, nodding slowly. “Your bruises don't count any more?” he asks, and Tony shrugs. 

“Blood beats bruises,” Tony answers, and Steve frowns.

“Technically, bruises are just blood that's-”

“Bleeding beats bruising,” Tony answers, his voice a little less cajoling than usual, and Steve slows to a stop to wrap one arm around him. 

“You can lead,” Steve says.

'Leading,' Steve and Tony both discovered early on, is the easiest way for them to understand each other when it comes to things Tony doesn't like to be vulgar about, and things Steve couldn't get past stuttering and blushing to say, even now. And, for the most part, leading is a better way of explaining decisions in the bedroom. Telling Tony “you can lead” is a better way of saying “I'll take what you give me.” But it's not always about determining the receptive partner. 

There are nights Steve leads, and that means he can help Tony bathe or hold Tony close, and maybe Tony still tops but it's only because leading is about allowing the other person to let go. 

Of course, today, Steve is looking forward to foregoing the stoicism and bravado to let Tony take care of him and, though they don't do things this way so much any more, it's been a while since he let Tony in the way he used to when they first got together. 

“If that's what you want,” Steve adds, while he's thinking about it. Because he doesn't want to be a burden on Tony, doesn't want to make Tony do anything he doesn't want to, have Tony do anything he doesn't have the energy for. And letting Tony take charge often means a lot of effort for Tony.

But Tony's eyes darken, which tells him enough even before he speaks; “Oh, I'm gonna own your ass.”

Steve laughs. “You already do,” he says, and at least Steve knows how this is going to go – or, at least, end. 

Tony's doing very well with the idea that their son thought the family was crashing down around his ears, and with the fact that he's a superhero. But it's the first thing that sticks, that snags, that hurts when they both stop and think about it.

Superheroism, they understand. They know you lie to protect those you love, you work to save those you can, that you've ended up with an ability beyond most other peoples' and you've decided to use your powers for good. Which is great, really – Steve feels a warmth in his chest knowing they raised Peter right. 

But, as many smiles and jokes as they give and make about being at New York's beck and call, and as many times as they both agree that, if either one hurts the other, any punishment Peter could dole out is probably deserved, Steve knows Tony's hurting.

Because even Steve was trying to think of excuses. Even Steve wanted proof before he listened, instead of refusing to believe outright. No, Steve never thought Tony would deliberately hurt him, but he'd considered a few options, and Peter...

Well, Peter had punched Tony in the jaw and things like that were likely to sting for a while, all bruises aside. Because Peter had thought Tony was cheating. He'd seen, he'd panicked, and he'd assumed without thinking that his first assumption had to be true. 

They could both understand his point of view, obviously, and Tony had been fantastic about the whole thing. But Steve doesn't doubt Tony wants to...assert his authority? Maybe that's the best way to put it.

“I can't believe he seriously...” Tony says softly, shaking his head as Steve closes the bedroom door behind them, and Steve hooks his arm around Tony's waist. 

“I know,” he says softly, for comfort, because he doesn't really know how Tony feels, although guessing isn't difficult. “He saw what he didn't understand, and he panicked. He's still just a kid.”

“Yeah,” Tony breathes, and Steve lets go of him to look at him properly, brushing the hair out of Tony's eyes. 

“It's okay if you just want to...I don't know. Sleep? Lie down?”

“Have a mental breakdown?” Tony sighs, scrubbing his hand over his face. “No, I want...”

And yeah, Steve can see what he wants in the way he rakes his gaze up and down Steve's body once or twice, and the way his posture changes. Tony wants to prove he can be just as strong as Steve, even if it's in a different way, wants to prove Steve belongs to him and he belongs to Steve. Like anything else, Tony wants to make sure Steve knows how loved he is by giving him all of his attention, all of his time, all of his care. “I want you,” he says. “Now. J.A.R.V.I.S, lock the door.”

J.A.R.V.I.S knows better than to say anything in return but they both hear the lock click. There are failsafes in place, alarms that have been set. If Peter gets into trouble, they'll know. If intruders break in, they'll know. If the world starts ending, they'll know. But, in the absence of those particular disasters, they're cut off from the world and Tony points at the bed.

“Go...stand,” he says, like his mind's forgetting how to speak, and Steve can do that. Steve does do that, slowly and carefully setting his shield down first.

Tony follows him and waits for him to do as he's told, to do as Tony's asked, and then Steve's standing at the foot of the bed with his hands by his sides.

“I love you,” Tony says, without looking at his face, and Steve smiles a little because that's okay right now.

“I love you, too,” he says, and Tony nods as he sighs.

“Now strip.”


End file.
